


Nowhere Good (But It's the Best)

by sinivalkoista



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon know how to read a map, Arthur meets Hunith, Being Lost, Bottom Arthur, Ealdor, Maps, Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), Merlin doesn't know how to tie knots, Oblivious Arthur, They lost their horses, Walking, lots of walking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinivalkoista/pseuds/sinivalkoista
Summary: Arthur stared at the map.“I think you’re holding it upside down,” Merlin told him, peeking over his shoulder.Arthur scowled at him. “I am not.” He was perfectly capable of reading a map, and he didn’t need Merlin telling him that he was doing things wrong because he wasn’t.“No, really,” Merlin insisted. “I think you’re holding it upside down.”
Relationships: Hunith & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hunith & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Kudos: 41





	Nowhere Good (But It's the Best)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt I found on Pinterest:  
> “Where does this lead?”
> 
> “Nowhere good.”
> 
> “How would you know?”
> 
> “I came from there.”

Arthur stared at the map.

“I think you’re holding it upside down,” Merlin told him, peeking over his shoulder.

Arthur scowled at him. “I am  _ not.”  _ He was perfectly capable of reading a map, and he didn’t need Merlin telling him that he was doing things wrong because he  _ wasn’t. _

“No, really,” Merlin insisted. “I think you’re holding it upside down.”

Arthur squinted at the tiny lines that were crammed together and formed some wavy impression of the land. When he had grabbed the map, he had mentally patted himself on the back for grabbing the most detailed one and therefore preparing himself well. Now, he was cursing himself for not picking a simpler one that didn’t strain his eyes.

Huffing impatiently, Merlin snatched the map from his hands.

“Hey! I was  _ reading  _ that,  _ Mer _ lin.”

“You’re taking forever and wasting time.”

“It isn’t taking that much time.” And it was certainly more profitable than ending up lost later.

“Wasting  _ more  _ time.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be wasting this much time if  _ you  _ hadn’t neglected to tie up the horses better.”

“I told you I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t bring back our horses.”

His father was going to be furious when he realized they had lost two of his best horses because some dimwitted servant didn’t know how to tie a knot properly.

“It’s upside down,” Merlin told him again, switching the map around. “See, now you can see the road where it branches off.”

Arthur looked up.

Huh. So  _ maybe  _ Merlin was right about that. But only that.

“Right. So which way do we go, then?”

“So…” Merlin squinted at the map. “For crying out loud, Arthur, did you have to pick  _ this  _ map? I can barely read it.”

“I’m surprised you know how to read at all. Most peasants don’t.”

“So  _ that’s  _ what separates you from the common crowd. I was  _ wondering. _ ”

“Shut up,  _ Mer _ lin.” 

“So,” Merlin began again, “it doesn’t really matter which way we go because they eventually loop around to the other road that we want to get on. The road on the left is longer and goes through some mountainous stuff.”

“Mountainous stuff.” Arthur snorted. “How eloquent.”

“The road on the right is shorter.”

“Well, the road on the right, then, is the obvious choice. Let’s go.” Arthur would be grateful whenever they came across a place where they could find a decent bed and meal for the evening. Merlin scared away all of the game. Not that Arthur was capable of catching any when  _ their horses were having the time of their lives somewhere dozens of leagues off. _

After taking nine steps forward, Arthur realized that Merlin wasn’t following him.

He halted. “Are you coming?”

“No.”

On his heel, Arthur turned around. “Why not? You said the road on the right was shorter.”

“I’m not going.”

Well, if Merlin was going to be stubborn, Arthur wasn’t going to tolerate it. He retracted his nine steps and yanked the map out of Merlin’s hands.

“Geoffrey is going to kill you,” Merlin told him sulkily.

“I’ll tell him you did it.”

“Out of the two of us, he’s more likely to believe me since you don’t have a single drop of respect for books.”

“I respect books.”

“You’re using one to prop one leg of your bed so all of them are even,” Merlin pointed out.

Ignoring him, Arthur spread out the map. “Hey, you didn’t mention the road on the right went through a  _ village,”  _ he accused.

Villages meant comfortable beds, toasty food, and maybe even a pint of two or ale.

At that moment, Arthur would do almost anything for a pint of ale.

“My bad.”

“What’s wrong with the road on the right?” Arthur asked, lowering the map for a second.

“You don’t know where it leads.”

“And where, pray tell, does it lead?”

“Nowhere good,” Merlin told him solemnly.

“And how would you know? It’s just a little village. I don’t see anything harmful in  _ that.”  _ Unless the villagers decided to try to burn Arthur and Merlin at the stake, but it had been awhile since an incident like that. 

Merlin’s eyebrows would always grow back in if that happened to be the case, he reasoned.

“I came from there. Trust me, Arthur, you don’t want to head there. The road on the left is - hey, where are you  _ going?”  _

“The road on the right, what’s it look like?” Arthur threw over his shoulder.

“I  _ told  _ you that leads nowhere good!” Merlin yelled at him. When Arthur didn’t stop, Merlin ran to catch up with him. 

“I want to see where you were born,” Arthur said.

“Why on  _ earth  _ would you want to do that?” Merlin almost begged. “There are hundreds of other towns all over Camelot. Why do you feel the need to stop at this one?”

“This one isn’t in Camelot. Besides, seeing where you grew up might explain a few things.”

“Listen, Arthur, can we just forget that the right road ever existed? A little walking won’t do you any harm. In fact, it might just do you a little good, what with all of the holes in your belt.”

Arthur glared at him. He wasn’t  _ fat  _ like Merlin was implying. In fact, between the two of them, he was probably the fitter. “Merlin, I am invoking my rank and making a royal decision. We are taking the right road. If you don’t like that, you can sit in the middle of the road and wait for the next troubadour who passes by to pick you up. Goodness knows you’ll fit in with the jesters and entertainers of the world.”

With the drama of a horse, Merlin sighed. “You’re as stubborn as a donkey.”

“You’re as stupid as one.”

“At least I don’t look like one. Or smell like one.”

“I am a prince,  _ Mer _ lin. I don’t smell.”

“Odor doesn’t discriminate, sire.”

…

After a few minutes of walking down the right road, Merlin began to lag behind.

At first, Arthur cut down his pace to accommodate Merlin, but then it just became ridiculous how slow Merlin was going. A snail would have made better time. In fact, there were probably several snails on the side of the road laughing their heads off at him and Merlin.

“What’s wrong with you? You were fine ten minutes ago,” Arthur complained as he backtracked to his dawdling manservant.

“Heat...stroke…” Merlin panted, bending over and bracing his palms against his knees. “Can’t...go...on.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “ _ Really?  _ Isn’t that a little  _ odd  _ considering it’s cloudy _ and _ you’re carrying at least two water bottles?”

“I am?”

“ _ Yes.” _

“Oh. Well, what do you know? The heatstroke must be from lugging all of this around. Why don’t you carry some?” Merlin suggested.

“You’re the servant around here. I’m not carrying anything.”

“But I could sprain a muscle or something.”

“You’re the one who didn’t tie the horses well enough, Merlin, so  _ you  _ get to carry everything. That’s how it works.”

Under his breath, Merlin grumbled.

Arthur started walking.

Reluctantly, Merlin followed.

…

Ten minutes later, Merlin stopped and began hopping like a child obsessed with a silly game. 

“What  _ now?”  _

“I think I sprained my ankle.”

“On what?” Arthur spread his arms wide. “This road is the flattest one I’ve ever seen.” Maybe an exaggeration, but it was better than walking through a corn field. That accounted for something.

“A rock.”

“A rock.”

“A  _ rock,  _ Arthur. They’re these little bits of earth that are almost as hard as your head. They come in all shapes and sizes.”

“I know what a blasted rock is. I don’t see any.”

“It was a while back.”

If Merlin thought he was being clever in getting out of going to this village, he was terribly wrong. “Merlin, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your ankle. Stand up.”

Petulantly, Merlin crossed his arms. “No.” He had already discarded his and Arthur’s pack to the side and looked as though he were making himself comfortable for the evening.

“Merlin, get up.”

“I’ve got a sprained ankle,” Merlin insisted.

“Sprained, my foot,” Arthur scoffed. “I would wager a gold coin that it isn’t sprained, and you know it.”

“Really? I’ve been working with Gaius. Between the two of us, I would recognize the signs of a sprained ankle better.”

“Merlin, I’ve been around sprained ankles before. I know what they look like, and  _ that  _ isn’t it. Look, you haven’t even taken your  _ boot  _ off.”

Merlin’s face fell. “Oh. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. It’s a pain to undo the knots”

“Obviously,” Arthur sneered. “Now get up. I want to reach the village by nightfall, not next Michaelmas.”

“Yes, but-”

“Merlin. We are going to this village. That’s final. If you don’t like it, you can find yourself another job.”

Merlin’s expression soured, but Arthur didn’t really care. As far as Arthur was concerned, Merlin was making a big to-do about nothing. After all, what could  _ possibly  _ be wrong with where Merlin had come from? He had turned out fine. Except for the odd things he did every once and awhile. Like looking for woodworms.

(Perhaps Merlin had a point.)

For the remainder of their trip on foot, Merlin complained. He went into great detail about the number of ogres that lived in the village (Arthur had neglected to look up the name on the map) and how they were the worst things imaginable. 

Merlin talked about how dry it was at that time of year and how Arthur would be sneezing for the entirety of their stay.

He talked about how there were rumors that werewolves lived in the nearby forest and advised Arthur on turning back lest they be their next victims, to which Arthur replied that he could outrun Merlin in that event.

After that, Merlin shut up and sulked, which didn’t really affect Arthur because it meant that he could enjoy some peace and quiet for once.

When the sun started kissing the edge of the landscape and the sky turned a light shade of purple, they began passing farms with expansive fields. The crops looked slightly worse for wear but were bravely poking out of the ground and swaying back and forth in the light breeze.

At the sight of them, Merlin looked especially glum. “There’s no deterring you?” he asked Arthur, speaking for the first time in over an hour.

“No.” He thought he had made that clear a long time ago.

Merlin sighed. “Well, come on, then.”

Veering off the main road, he struck out on one of the side paths that led to a farmhouse.

“Where are you going? Merlin, you don’t want to bother them. I have enough money for rooms!” 

Not that Arthur wouldn’t mind not having to spend it, but he could afford not being rude by imposing on some farmer and his wife.

“Merlin!”

Walking backwards, Merlin yelled, “To the farmhouse!” before turning around again.

_ Obviously.  _ Arthur wasn’t blind. He hurried after Merlin. “Why are we stopping here? Do you know this family?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, you do? I didn’t know you had friends.”

Merlin didn’t respond or react to that.

As they entered the front yard in front of the farmhouse, a flock of chickens migrated from one section of grass to the barn, squawking their heads off. The front door to the house opened, and a woman stuck her head out.

“ _ Merlin!”  _

Maybe  _ friends  _ was an underassumption. The woman came flying out of the house. Despite his distaste for the region, Merlin’s pace quickened.

“Merlin!”

When she reached him, the woman embraced Merlin, and Merlin actually  _ hugged her back.  _

Now that he was closer, Arthur could see that she was older because her hair was streaked with some grey.

“Why didn’t you send word that you were coming?” the woman asked, pulling back but keeping her hands on Merlin’s shoulders even though he was taller than her. “Who’s this?”

“This is Arthur,” Merlin introduced. “ _ Prince  _ Arthur.”

“Oh, excuse me.” The woman curtsied to Arthur.

Merlin sighed. “Arthur, this is my mother, Hunith.”

“Your  _ mother?”  _

Now that he thought about it, he should have known that some of Merlin’s relations would be around if this was where Merlin had come from.

“ _ Yes.”  _

Merlin looked miserable.

Arthur couldn’t understand it.

“Won’t you come inside?” Hunith asked. “I can prepare supper for you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Arthur took up her offer before Merlin could reject it on some silly excuse. 

As they headed to the farmhouse, Hunith kept an arm around Merlin’s shoulders. As they took the lead, Arthur heard her whisper, “How have you been?” followed by another question out of Arthur’s earshot.

…

Arthur soon discovered one reason why Merlin wouldn’t want Arthur anywhere near his mother - Hunith was full of stories of everything Merlin had done since he was able to walk, and half of them were embarrassing and made Merlin turn red.

(Arthur may have derived too much enjoyment from this.)

In the middle of a story, Hunith asked Merlin to make himself useful and fetch some wood. Instead of complaining the whole nine yards, Merlin left after warning her he would know if she blackened his name further.

As soon as he was out of the house, Arthur snorted. “He doesn’t ever do it that quickly for me.”

Hunith smiled at him over her shoulder as she stirred the pot on the stove. “Making him do anything when he didn’t want to was always a hassle. Especially when he was with Will.”

“Merlin has friends around here? From the way he painted it, I thought this place was teeming with vampires.”

Hunith laughed. There was an easy atmosphere about her. Although Arthur had only just met her, he immediately felt at ease as though he had known her for his entire life.

“Merlin wasn’t accepted growing up. His father left before he was born.” The words were said factually, without malice.

Arthur didn’t know what to say to that. “Oh.”

“That is why I sent him to Camelot.” Hunith lifted a ladle of the stew and sniffed it. “Gaius is my brother.”

Uncomfortable, Arthur nodded before realizing that her back was still to him. “I didn’t know that,” he offered up rather pathetically.

It explained a lot about Merlin - why he was guarded about certain things, why he didn’t want to pass through this certain village.

Arthur felt the slightest bit guilty at forcing Merlin to come here.

“Merlin doesn’t like to talk about it,” Hunith said, alleviating somewhat of the awkwardness. “He’s always been somewhat of a proud boy. Sadly, he got that from me.”

Just then, the door of the house slammed open, and Merlin came tromping back in, his face covered up by the mound of wood cradled in his arms.

With much clanging and banging, he dropped them on the hearth in front of the unlit fireplace.

“Is this enough?”

“Yes, thank you. Please add some to the stove. Supper’s ready.” As she ladled out bowls, Merlin shoved some of the wood pieces he brought into the stove, wincing whenever his hands got too close to the hot metal.

Half a minute later, he joined them at the table.

It was honestly the best meal that Arthur had ever eaten.

…

Later that evening, Hunith asked Merlin to start a fire. Merlin put up a slight protest, but when Arthur looked away for a quick second to admire a quilt Hunith had hung on one of the walls, he turned back to find that Merlin had gotten a roaring fire going in the fireplace.

“ _ Merlin!”  _ Hunith scolded. “What have I told you about being careful? You could have-” As if realizing Arthur was present, she caught herself. “You should be more  _ careful.”  _

Cheekily, Merlin grinned at her. “It’s all right, Mum.”

Hunith put her hands on her hips. “It is certainly  _ not,  _ Merlin.”

“Oh, I know how good Merlin is at starting fires,” Arthur said, the slightest bit puzzled at Hunith’s reaction. Maybe she was afraid of fire. “He always seems to get them going, even when it’s raining.” Arthur scowled. It was ruddy unfair, that’s what it was.

“Does he, now?” Hunith narrowed her eyes at her son, who found himself quite busy tending to the fire and poking a stray log back where it belonged.

Arthur felt like he was missing something, but he couldn’t place his finger on what.

It didn’t matter, anyway. Merlin quickly changed the subject, asking Hunith how the fields were doing and whether or not one of the cows had given birth that spring.

Since Arthur didn’t know anything about either matter, he sat back and listened to them converse, watching Merlin.

It was the most relaxed that Arthur had ever seen him. As his mother described the antics of the cow, his face lit up, and a slight, invisible weight lifted from his shoulders.

But perhaps Arthur was just seeing things.

…

When it was late and the fire was almost burned out, Hunith turned in. Although she offered Arthur her bed, he refused.

“I couldn’t possibly take yours.” Although he was, technically, of higher social status, it felt wrong depriving her of that comfort.

Hunith pursed her lips. “Then you can take Merlin’s cot.”

“Hey!” Merlin protested. “Mum-”

“No buts about it, Merlin. Prince Arthur is our guest.”

“You can call me Arthur,” he said gruffly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, so  _ she  _ gets to call you Arthur.” Merlin glowered at him. “Quit trying to butter my mother up.”

“You never use my title,  _ Mer _ lin, anyway, so what’s the point in telling you?”

Amusement dancing on her father, Hunith watched them bicker.

Merlin turned to her. “Do I  _ really  _ have to give him my cot? Can’t he sleep on the floor? We have some hay in the barn.”

Light, Hunith swatted him. “I’m not sweeping that up in the morning.”

“I would.”

“Arthur is the guest,” Hunith repeated, stressing the last word.

As though he knew from past experience that arguing further would be futile, Merlin scowled and stomped over to a chest in the corner to remove more blankets for himself.

Despite his irritation and the red hue of his face, he still let Hunith kiss him goodnight on the cheek.

…

In the darkness of the farmhouse, Arthur waited until Hunith’s breathing evened out before trying to capture Merlin’s attention. __

_ “Merlin,”  _ he hissed.

In the darkness, something shifted, but Merlin didn’t answer him.

_ “Merlin, I know you’re awake.”  _

There was more shifting, and out of the flat darkness, Merlin grumbled, “ _ What do you want? _ ”

“I thought you said this was one of the worst places around,” Arthur accused. “Your mother is one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met.” And Arthur did not give such praise lightly even if he was slightly biased, having grown up without the loving hand of a mother.

From his wrap of blankets, Merlin gave a muffled snort. “Yeah, she is, isn’t she? And I didn’t say it was the worst. I said it was  _ nothing good.  _ But it’s the best, isn’t it - because she’s here.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed even though the statement seemed to mean something else entirely to Merlin.

For a little while, Arthur lay awake, listening to the fauna outside the farmhouse and the chirping of a lost bird.

_ “Merlin?  _ Are you still awake?”

“What do you want  _ now, Arthur _ ?”

“Thank you.”

“Mmm. Shut up and let me sleep.”

Contented, Arthur wrapped the quilt more tightly around himself before drifting off. 


End file.
